Eye of the Beholder
by KyoHana
Summary: Is beauty truly in 'the eye of the beholder? Join Kurama as he learns the answer to that question. Shounen Ai and Yaoi. KuramaxHiei. Rating is 'M' due to some possible violence and lemon in later chapters.
1. Prologue

_**(Standard disclaimer: You know I don't own YYH or its characters; they are the sole property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump Comics Weekly, Studio Pierrot and Fuji Television; nor do I own the fable, 'Beauty and the Beast', upon which this story is based.)**_

**A/N: While this story is based on the fable, _Beauty and the Beast_, it is not the Disney version, though it will have elements of that version as well as the fable that I read as a child.**

**I hope you enjoy and please, be so kind to leave a review at the door. The muse, and I, will be very appreciative if you do.**

* * *

We begin our tale as all good fables are begun, with those immortal words:

_**Once upon a time…..**_

…..in a land far away and a time long ago, there lived a man of noble birth; a merchant by trade, whose wealth and power were unrivaled among his peers.

The merchant, one Kazuya Hatanaka by name, lived with his two sons in a grand manor house on the very edge of the port city from whence his immense fleet sailed.

Shuuichi the Elder was, in actuality, Hatanaka's stepson; his mother having been the merchant's second wife. She had passed away with the first days of the previous summer, leaving the young man bereft, for they had been very close indeed.

Kurama, as he was known, so as to avoid confusion with Shuuichi the Younger, was tall, his form slender, willowy some might say, yet athletic; the lithe form of a dancer. He was truly beautiful, with long crimson colored hair and eyes the deep emerald of the forest's pine. His smile was gentle, his voice a soft tenor. Highly intelligent and possessed of a quick wit, Kurama was quite popular among the daughters of the nobility. However, at 18, he'd yet to express an interest in any of the young ladies who openly flaunted their affections before the quiet young man; a fact that caused considerable consternation for his stepfather, as Hatanaka had long dreamed of the boy making a favorable match with one of the young women, and in so doing, increase his wealth and power.

Shuuichi the Younger, affectionately called 'Shuu-kun' by his elder stepbrother, was a vivacious lad of 14. Dark brown hair and eyes of deep blue, he was every inch his father's blood; heir to the vast fortune Hatanaka had accumulated over the years. Shorter than Kurama in height, and stockier in build, he was his stepbrother's equal in wit, if not brains, for Shuu-kun was a prankster, forever indulging his love of jokes and good-natured teasing.

Thus, the merchant and his sons passed their days in comfort. Yet all too soon the winds of Fate, as they are often wont to do, would change, irrevocably altering the life of one of these three. And this, gentle reader, is where our story truly begins…..


	2. Chapter 1

_**(Standard disclaimer: You know I don't own YYH or its characters; they are the sole property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump Comics Weekly, Studio Pierrot and Fuji Television; nor do I own the fable, 'Beauty and the Beast', upon which this story is based.)**_

* * *

'How had this happened?' Hatanaka wondered for, perhaps (or so it seemed to him), the one-millionth time. His eyes surveyed the small, cozy room in which he sat then immediately glanced up; the raucous male laughter he heard just outside the tiny, opened window disturbing his maudlin reverie.

'Ah, how the mighty hath fallen!' The thought came, as it always did when he reflected upon his fate, which was often, and Hatanaka sighed. "To think," he said to himself, shaking his graying head, "that I, the once great Kazuya Hatanaka should be reduced to such as this…" Here he spread his hands, taking in the bare contents of the small room. "…living in this… this hovel," he practically spat the last word as his eyes continued their wandering.

18 months…..

Had it really only been a year and a half since he'd presided over what amounted to a small empire; the toast of royalty; and the envy of his peers? Yet now, nothing remained of his former glory: his fleet ruined; three ships lost at sea, and the remainder laying in their own watery grave, victims of the typhoon that had struck the port city so ferociously, and completely without warning. His vast wealth, so inextricably tied to those ships, was gone as well. Gone, too, was the magnificent manor house of which he was justifiably proud. All of it taken in one fell swoop, for the Fates had not been kind, and he was left with nothing.

Not quite nothing, however, he reflected. There was still this place: a small cottage with its tiny patch of farmland far from the city he'd so loved. Yet even this was not truly his; for the house and land had once belonged to his beloved second wife, Shiori; left to her son upon her death.

It galled Hatanaka to have been reduced to such a state; the bitter brew of this existence his daily drink. A peasant! The former noble now nothing more than a lowly farmer; living here under the forbearance of his stepson; though, to give Kurama his due, the boy had never made him feel the failure HE saw himself to be. Rather, the boy seemed to thrive on this new life, for to him, it was a homecoming of sorts… coming back to the life he once knew. Shuuichi, as well, took to his new surroundings and way of life with the exuberance that only the young seemed capable of managing.

Indeed, between the two of his sons, they'd devised their own scheme for running the household, leaving Hatanaka with little else to do but brood… a task he was only to happy to accomplish.

Kurama, in addition to the housekeeping and cooking all their meals, tended the bit of land; toiling the soil, sowing the seeds, watching over his crops as tenderly as any father would have cared for his children, and then harvesting the fruits of his labors. In this, he was joined by one of his two childhood friends: a big, strapping lad of 17 with a shock of carrot-colored hair who went by the unlikely name of Kazuma Kuwabara. It was Kuwabara who'd suggested that Kurama join his plot to the other boy's and farm them together, sharing equally in the bounty; an idea to which his stepson readily agreed.

To many, and Hatanaka counted himself among this august company, Kuwabara appeared to be a dolt, though even he had to admit the lad did have a keen sense of honor, as well as courage. Awkward, and due to his large size, ungainly; with a voice that was loud, rough and just plain obnoxious coupled with a laugh that was more donkey's bray than not, Hatanaka marveled that the big buffoon could have wooed, let alone won, the gentle heart of the lovely young woman he'd married.

Yukina… she of the soft, pale green curls the color of turquoise and eyes a chestnut brown that in certain light looked almost crimson was the polar opposite of her loutish husband. As petite as Kuwabara was tall, she was a soft-spoken, some might even venture to say timid, girl, and yet, there seemed to surround the small maiden an aura of quiet calm that affected all who came in contact with the demure young girl; her husband among them. Hatanaka himself was not immune to her gentle ways and felt more at peace in her presence than at any other time.

As for his younger son; Shuuichi cared not a wit for tilling the soil. He derived no enjoyment, as his elder brother did, from watching things grow, and thus, in silent accord with Kurama, had taken to the hunt, providing meat for the family table. In this, he had shown such aptitude that he'd been taken under the auspices of Kuwabara's best mate: one Yusuke Urameshi by name, himself the second of Kurama's childhood friends.

Brash and cocky; Yusuke was, in Hatanaka's opinion, nothing more than a loud-mouthed, uncouth braggart. Yet even he could not deny the young man's unerring skill with both musket and crossbow.

At 17, with dark hair and peat colored eyes, together with his muscular build and a ready grin, Yusuke was the veritable epitome of masculinity. It was for this reason, more so than his prowess with gun and bow, that the noble gentleman was willing to allow Shuuichi to spend time in the other boy's company, for the father deemed Yusuke's manliness, rather than his stepson's gentle, almost feminine ways, to be a more favorable influence upon the impressionable young boy who was his flesh and blood.

Yusuke, as well, had a wife, and as he thought about the young, brunette spitfire, Hatanaka could not help the somewhat impish grin that suddenly settled upon his stern visage. Though slight in stature, in truth, she stood only two inches taller than Yukina; Keiko Urameshi was willowy, with eyes that matched the deep brown of her hair. Those same eyes could be soft and gentle, gazing upon her husband with such love one moment only to flash with fiery indignation the next.

Together with her parents, the Yukimuras, and Yusuke, Keiko ran the hostel located in the center of the village. An uncommon site, to be sure, to find in so tiny a hamlet, but the village lay midway between the inner Barony lands and the larger port city some 150 miles away; thus, it was a logical stopover along the carriage road that connected the two.

Though it was common knowledge within the village that the Yukimuras were grooming the daughter and her husband for their eventual succession to the management of the hostel, it was also common knowledge that Yusuke had not the slightest interest in the place. He much preferred to spend his days hunting the vast, forested lands that surrounded the village, which one could not deny, did supply meat for the daily table. His nights, for the most part, were spent in drunken revelry within the small public room that was a part of the hostel. And though on those occasions, more often than not, the entire village bore witness to the shrill sound of her voice berating her errant husband; none could dispute the fact that Keiko loved Yusuke with all her heart, and he, for his part, returned her affection in full-measure.

The sound of a door opening, followed by several voices all trying to speak at the same moment, brought an abrupt end to Hatanaka's musings. He looked up as his stepson, a basket of vegetables tucked securely under one arm and the other casually draped across Shuu-kun's shoulder, stepped through the door. Behind them, the older man noted, the 'lout' and the 'lay-about' (as he'd dubbed Kurama's friends – Kuwabara and Yusuke, respectively) trooped in.

"Good afternoon, Stepfather."… "Hello, Father." His sons greeted him simultaneously.

Kurama, with a nod and smile for Hatanaka, released Shuu-kun and headed for the small wooden table in the center of the room. Placing the basket on the table, he turned to address his stepfather once again. "We are fortunate," he said, with a smile and a nod toward Shuuichi the Younger, himself barely containing a wide grin. "Shuu-kun's considerable skill with a bow has netted a rare treat for tonight's meal."

Hatanaka's deep blue eyes (so like his son's) widened in surprise as he turned to the younger boy; a pleased smile gracing the thin lips as Shuu-kun held up his prize: a large pheasant. However, Hatanaka's pleasure at the unexpected boon was dampened somewhat at his stepson's next words.

"Kazuma," the red-haired youth addressed his taller friend, "perhaps you and Yukina would care to join us for dinner this evening?" Turning his head slightly, Kurama spoke to the black-haired youth standing next to Kuwabara. "And Yusuke, you and Keiko are welcome to join us as well?"

Kuwabara flashed a large grin, his small, dark eyes lighting up as they always did when someone mentioned his lovely little wife. "We'd love to, Kurama," he replied. "I'll just run on over to the house and fetch Yukina. I'm sure she wouldn't mind lending a hand with the meal." He spared a brief glance at the shorter man at his side. "Urameshi?" he questioned.

Yusuke, who'd been absently watching Kurama take the vegetables from the basket, returned his best mate's look. "Right with you, Kuwabara," he answered with a nod. "Kurama," he continued, turning his attention back to his red-haired friend, "thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid Keiko and I won't be able to oblige. I promised I'd actually be there to help her and her folks at the inn this evening, and I'm already late as it is."

"Some other time, then," Kurama responded, giving his friend a smile before turning toward the cupboard and taking several pots and pans from it.

Yusuke grinned in return then turned to follow his large, carrot-topped companion out. Just before he stepped completely through the open door, the three remaining occupants in the room heard the muttered 'damnation'. Yusuke turned back with an embarrassed grin, his cheeks flushing a bright crimson as he reached beneath his open coat and removed a small square of sealed parchment from his waistcoat pocket.

"Eh… I'm sorry, milord," he said, that lopsided grin still in place as he addressed Hatanaka, holding the letter out to him. "This arrived for you early this morning, and I completely forgot to give it to you when I got here."

"Idiot," Hatanaka hissed with a scowl as he snatched the letter from the boy's hand.

Yusuke shrugged, for the moment choosing to ignore the slight from the former nobleman. Catching both Kurama's and Shuu-kun's eyes, he grinned, and with a wave, sauntered out the door.

Hatakana paid no heed as the youth again left the house, his attention fixed solely upon the contents of the letter in his hand. "Impossible!" he breathed shaking his head in disbelief. "It can't be!" Quickly he read the letter through again, and then a third time to be absolutely certain.

"What is it?"… "Father?" Again, his sons addressed him at the same moment, and he looked up at them, a smile spreading slowly across his features.

"My sons," he replied, "fortune, it seems, has decided to smile upon us once more."

* * *

**A/N: Until next time, just a small request: if you read, please be kind enough to review. Arigato!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_**(Standard disclaimer: I don't own YYH or its characters; they are the sole property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump Comics Weekly, Studio Pierrot and Fuji Television; nor do I own the fable, 'Beauty and the Beast', upon which this story is based.)**_

* * *

The sun had not yet fully risen; the earth still bathed in the dusky rose of dawn's first light when Kurama finished his task; the patiently waiting mare now saddled and ready.

"How long do you anticipate the journey might take, Sir?" the boy asked his stepfather as Hatanaka came through the door of the cottage and negotiated the short distance between the house to where his stepson stood, holding the reins of the roan-colored horse.

They… no, Kurama… had bartered the use of the horse and saddle from the Yukimura hostel. Hatanaka would have nothing to do with it. He'd sooner walk the 50 leagues than be beholden to someone. Therefore, his stepson had taken it upon himself to strike the deal: the use of the mare for however long his stepfather needed to be away in exchange for supplying the hostel with fresh fruits and vegetables as well as the promise that the younger Shuuichi would aid Yusuke in the daily hunt for meat for the hostel's tables. God, but he abhorred this genteel poverty!

"A fortnight," Hatanaka answered, adjusting his traveling cloak until it settled perfectly across broad shoulders. "Perhaps a bit longer. I won't know for sure until I can see the condition of the ships and the remaining wares they bear for myself, as well as to arrange for buyers for the goods and re-outfitting the ships for their return voyage."

"You'll need lodging, then, for the duration of your trip," the red-haired youth stated as his stepfather put his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up and into the saddle.

The former nobleman snorted. Looking down at the boy he replied. "You and I both know there is no money for such luxuries. I shall have to depend upon the kindness of someone among the peerage of the city for such things as a bed and meals."

"Perhaps you should be wary of accepting such kindness," Kurama returned. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he withdrew something, though Hatanaka could not see what it was for the boy held it tight within his fist as he spoke again. "At any rate, I do not think it will be necessary for you to depend upon the hospitality of your former friends and acquaintances." With that, he extended his hand up to his stepfather and opened it.

Hatanaka's gaze left his stepson's face to settle upon the object that rested in the boy's upturned palm, the early morning sunlight reflecting the deep ruby stone set within the burnished gold of the band. He recognized the signet ring at once, having heard its history, and that of the Minamino family, from his beloved Shiori.

The Minaminos were a noble family; soldiers in the king's army since time immemorial, if one were to believe the legends, though Hatanaka himself found them simply too fantastical to believe.

However, even he could not deny the family's valor and unfailing devotion to their sovereign. After all, the signet ring, the family's crest carefully carved into the ruby, was proof of that. It had been presented to the first Minamino who'd pledged his fealty and sword to the king as tribute to that same courage and loyalty. Since that time, the ring had been passed through the generations from first-born son to first-born son.

Thus had it come to Shiori's first husband, and upon his untimely death in the service of his king, to her (Kurama being but an infant at the time).

No longer wishing to remain at court after her beloved husband's death, Shiori had been granted leave to retire quietly to a small cottage and plot of land away from the city. Along with a monthly stipend, the cottage and land had been a gift from the king to honor her husband's bravery.

It was here, in the cottage Kurama now possessed and in which Hatanaka and his son resided with him, that Shiori raised her Shuuichi until, when the lad was 15, she'd remarried. During all those years, she'd kept the ring safe until Kurama had finally come of age. Hatanaka well remembered the day she had finally gifted her son with his legacy for that day, Kurama's 16th birthday, had also marked the first anniversary of his and Shiori's marriage.

Now, as the memories flooded his mind, Hatanaka tore his eyes from the ring and once more, met the emerald gaze of his stepson.

"No, Kurama," he said with a firm shake of his graying head. "I cannot accept your offer. **_This _**is your legacy."

A small smile graced the boy's elfin features. "I need no bauble to know who I am, Stepfather," he responded, "and the ring should fetch a fair price. I would consider it an honor if you will allow me to be the one to see to your comfort during your journey. Please… take it."

With those words, Kurama reached up with his free hand and took his stepfather's gloved hand into his own. Pressing the ring into the palm of the hand he held, he closed the older man's fingers around it and stepped back, green eyes still locked with deep blue.

"Are you sure?" Hatanaka asked, and at the boy's firm nod, bowed his head. "I… I don't know what to say to such munificence, except… thank you," he finished softly.

Again, Kurama smiled. "Such gratitude is unnecessary, Stepfather," he responded, "but… you are welcome."

Hatanaka raised his head and studied his stepson for a long while. The boy had always been something of a puzzle to him; an enigma. Even now, at this very moment, Hatanaka could not fathom just how easily Kurama had parted with his family heirloom, the only remembrance of his natural father the boy possessed. Yet it was this very ease, so typical of the boy, which perpetually confounded the older man. He stifled a sigh. He cared deeply for the boy, and though it was not the same love he felt for his own Shuuichi, it was love nonetheless.

Yet, now was not the time to ponder such things. He had far to travel and the sun was climbing fast into the sky. Best to take his leave then, and save these thoughts for another occasion when there would be time to consider them fully.

With those thoughts, the former nobleman withdrew his eyes from his stepson. Opening his fist, he glanced briefly at the ring nestled in his palm before carefully placing it into the innermost recesses of his waistcoat pocket. He then met Kurama's patient gaze.

"I shall find some way, one day, to return this to you," he vowed, patting the pocket wherein the ring rested. "You have my word on this."

Kurama said nothing, letting the gentle smile that graced his full lips and the look held within his jade-colored eyes speak far more eloquently than his words could ever do.

In actuality, he cared not if the ring was ever returned to him. Though he was proud of the man who'd sired him, he had not known him. His father had died when he was but a babe, and so he had no recollection of the man save for the memories of him that his beloved mother had imparted to him. It was the man who sat on the horse above him now that he remembered; the only father he'd ever really known.

Again, silence stretched between the two men until Hatanaka cleared his throat and took up the reins of his horse. "Best I'm off then," he harrumphed. He gazed a moment longer at his stepson. "I leave my son's care in your capable hands, Kurama."

"Then I shall do my utmost to be worthy of the confidence you've placed in me, Stepfather," the boy replied.

Hatanaka nodded then gently touched booted feet to the horse's flanks. As the roan began to move forward, Kurama called out. "Take care… and hurry home, Sir."


	4. Chapter 3

_**Standard Disclaimer: You know the deal... I own nothing, but if you need to see the whole thing, please refer to the Prologue -- it's there.**_

* * *

_**(One month and two days later)**_

Kazuya Hatanaka was not a particularly happy man. His business had taken far longer than he'd anticipated and he was bone weary. Yet there remained 25 miles of additional travel, "And **_all_** of it on horseback," he grimaced, before he reached the tiny cottage that was to be his home for somewhat longer than he would have desired.

The journey had been neither as productive nor as fruitful as he had anticipated upon receiving the letter that had informed him of the survival of two of the three ships thought to have been lost at sea. Though both still contained a goodly variety of merchandise (and all of it in relatively satisfactory condition, all things considered) for trade or sale, it had been clearly less than Hatanaka had expected due to the necessity of both captains having to trade some of those same goods for repairs to their ships so that they could make the return voyage home.

Added to that was the somewhat less-than-favorable return on his investment that Hatanaka had been given when he'd negotiated for the sale of the remaining merchandise. It seemed, along with his worldly goods, his stature amongst not only the peerage but the merchant guild as well had been considerably depleted. And there was, of course, the fact that he'd had not only to pay both crews, but also to re-outfit at least one of the ships so that another voyage could be made.

Needless to say, all of these events combined had considerably reduced what profit Hatanaka had been able to procure from the sale of the remaining goods, leaving the former nobleman little better off financially than when he'd arrived in the city.

And, as if the past month had not been trying enough, the weather, which had been pleasant and warm when he'd set out to return to his home, had turned decidedly foul. The previously blue sky had become overcast. The formerly white clouds were now a dull, slate grey, and the temperature had dropped significantly, chilling him to the bone as Hatanaka huddled deeper into his cloak. A heavy, misting rain had also begun to fall.

With the rain and the decrease in temperature, a ground fog swelled from the previously warm earth and penetrated the forest through which he now traveled, making it all but impossible for the former nobleman to keep any sense of direction. Wet, cold, and thoroughly miserable, Hatanaka urged his mount forward, hoping that he was still heading in the right direction and had not somehow gotten turned around in the damnable fog.

Just as he was about to give up all hope of finding his way home and settle instead for simply finding shelter from the miserable weather, the rain abruptly ceased and the clouds parted to reveal late afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees overhead. The fog, too, quickly receded, and Hatanaka urged his mount forward with confidence once more. It would be nightfall, he surmised, looking up at the sky, before he reached the cottage, but at least he would be home. With a heavy sigh at this less-than-pleasurable thought, the noble gentleman continued his journey.

It was not until sometime later, with the sun sinking slowly towards the horizon and horse and rider had come upon a high, stone wall they had not encountered on their way to the city, that Hatanaka realized he was, indeed, traveling in the wrong direction. He was just about to turn the mare around and head back in the direction from which he'd come when a flash of green and red caught his eye. It was a rose bush, run to riot over the wall: the leaves of which were a brilliant emerald, and the blossoms themselves the very same deep crimson as his stepson's long, silky red hair.

This thought jolted Hatanaka into remembrance. The night before he'd begun his now accursed journey, he and his sons had talked long into the night about the letter he'd received and what it could possibly portend for their current, and future, circumstances. The conversation ended with the former nobleman's query to each of his sons as to what gift they should like him to bring them upon his return.

Shuuichi-kun had immediately seized upon this opportunity and requested his own crossbow as presently, he was forced to use one of Yusuke's when they hunted. Hatanaka readily acquiesced to the young boy's request before he'd turned his attention to the older of his two sons. Kurama appeared to have been deep in thought, and his stepfather had had to call to him and repeat his question.

When he'd finally looked up and fixed his attention to the older man, Kurama smiled wistfully. "Forgive me, Stepfather," he quietly replied, "I was just thinking about Mother's roses."

Shiori's rose garden had been the envy of many of the other nobles' wives; though it was her son who had diligently cultivated and cared for the flowers. Again, that fleeting wistful smile crossed the boy's handsome features. "It would be nice to have a small garden here to remember her by, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, Kurama continued. "That small plot of ground beneath the window would be perfect, I think. So, I'd like to have a cutting from a rose bush, if you please, Sir. The flower vendor in the city should be able to provide you with one at a fair price."

The memory of that conversation jolted Kazuya into another, more immediate thought. In his haste to leave the city that morning, he'd completely forgotten to visit the flower vendor to purchase the cutting his stepson had requested. As he continued to stare at the lovely roses adorning the bush, though, another thought occurred to him: he would take Kurama one of those roses. It would not be precisely what the boy had asked for, but at least he'd have the flower to enjoy for a time.

Hatanaka gently touched his boots to his horse's flanks, urging the mount forward and parallel to both the wall and the bush. Once he was close enough to the overgrowth to touch it, he pulled back on the reins to halt the mare. Obediently, she stopped, and Kazuya reached down to pull a small dagger from the inside of his boot. Blue eyes the color of sapphires carefully scanned the bush before settling upon one of the blooms. This one, a deeper crimson than the others on the bush, was in that perfect moment between bud and full blossom, and Hatanaka gave a nod of satisfaction. Kurama, he thought, would certainly appreciate the flawless beauty of this particular bloom.

Leaning slightly to the side, Hatanaka grasped the bloom with one hand while the one holding the dagger began cutting the stem from the bush. No sooner had he finished his task and begun to re-sheath his dagger beneath the lip of his boot then the former nobleman was hit by what he thought was a rush of wind that knocked him from the saddle, the rose he held in one hand and the dagger in another flying out of those hands as he roughly hit the ground below. But that couldn't be! Wind had no physical form that he knew, yet he'd clearly felt the blow to his chest that had thrown him from his mount; could feel the hand that was now fisted in his cloak and the cold steel of a blade pressed against the tender flesh of his neck.

Slowly Hatanaka raised his gaze, trying to discern the shadow that stood over him. The being, whoever or whatever it may be, was clad from head to foot in a dark cloak, the hood of which was pulled so far forward, all the man could distinguish within were two burning red eyes. And though seemingly small in stature, the being was without a doubt, quite powerful. Hatanaka opened his mouth to protest his abusive treatment at the shadowed figure's hands but snapped it shut as a deep, angry voice issued from within the dark recesses of that hooded cloak.

"Thief!" the voice hissed, the hand fisting Hatanaka's cloak tightening and the blade pressing further into his neck. "Trespasser! How **_DARE_** you defile my garden!"

* * *

A/N: I know... not too much action, but this chapter was necessary to set up the next and succeeding chapters. As always, please feed the muse with a review. Thanks! 


	5. Chapter 4

_**(Standard disclaimer: You know I don't own YYH or its characters; they are the sole property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump Comics Weekly, Studio Pierrot and Fuji Television; nor do I own the fable, 'Beauty and the Beast', upon which this story is based.)**_

* * *

"H..h..how dare _**I**_?" Hatanaka sputtered, managing to sound indignant even with the sword still pressed uncomfortably into his throat. The anger that now coursed through him at the audacity of this puny upstart now matched that of the being in whose grasp he was held. "How dare _**you**_!" he retorted. "You attack_** me**_ and then have the _**temerity**_ to address me in such a manner! Have you _**any**_ idea just who I am?"

Icy blue eyes, filled with all the haughty arrogance their former nobility granted them, stared back at the cloaked and hooded figure standing over him.

"I care not in the _**least**_ for who you are!" spat the figure. Though the face beneath the hood remained invisible, the voice that addressed Hatanaka carried within it the same arrogance as the former noble's sapphire eyes. "You are nothing more than a common trespasser and thief," it finished, the sword pressing even further into the soft flesh of his captive's neck, enough to draw blood.

"I am _**neither**_," the noble fumed. Despite the blood he could feel trickling down his skin, Hatanaka held onto his rage, eyes and voice becoming even more glacial as he glared at the hooded man. "This road is meant for public use; and that bush," he flung an arm in the direction of the overgrowth from which he'd so recently taken the rose…..

"Wrong again, interloper!" the angry voice hissed, effectively silencing the nobleman before he could so much as finish his thought. "These lands are _**mine**_. Thus, whatever is contained on or within them also belongs to me. And though the road may be for public benefit, you were not _**on**_ it when you cut that rose from my bush."

The sword pressed against Hatanaka's throat moved suddenly, the flat end of the blade now pressed beneath his chin, the tip still far too close to his neck for his comfort. Slowly, he felt that blade raise his head until his eyes met twin, burning embers hidden within that hooded cloak.

"Understand me well, thief," the cloaked figure spoke as though passing judgment, and indeed, the man's next words confirmed this unpleasant fact. "As these lands are mine, so too, are the laws that govern them. And by these laws, you have been judged guilty of the crimes of trespassing and thievery; the punishment for these being death at my hands; the sentence to be carried out immediately."

The blood drained from Hatanaka's face as he felt the blade move from beneath his chin. Still, he maintained his arrogant demeanor. "You cannot! You have _**no**_ right!" he spat at the small man before him. Blue eyes held that steady, crimson gaze, refusing to yield to the fear he felt at the prospect of his imminent death. "This is not _**justice**_. It is nothing short of _**murder**_."

That coldly calculating voice issued forth from the hood once more. "I can… and I shall. As master of these lands, I am well within my rights." The sword moved again; this time drawn back for the blow that would surely end Hatanaka's life. "Prepare yourself. I shall ensure your death will be quick and painless."

Yet before the blade could descend, a loud cry resounded through the wood, "STOP!" followed by the pounding of running feet upon hard-packed soil, and the cloaked figure suddenly became aware of a body placed between himself and the thief kneeling in the dirt. Hatanaka was shocked, as well, to find his head still firmly attached to his shoulders. Carefully he shifted his gaze from his would-be executioner to the figure that had so fortuitously intervened. Shock quickly gave way to surprise as he noted the slender, almost feminine frame and long, scarlet hair of his stepson, his shoulders heaving as the boy tried to catch his breath.

Swallowing hard, Hatanaka found his voice. "Kurama?" he asked, his mind not quite ready yet to accept what it was his eyes were seeing. "H… how did you?" And as he realized that, indeed, it was his stepson standing between himself and the sword-wielding maniac, he demanded, "Why are you here?"

Kurama turned his head slightly to the side and smiled. His voice, when he spoke, was steady; as he'd managed to regain his breath in the time it had taken Hatanaka to recognize him. "Yes, Stepfather, it is I. And as to why I am here… I was searching for you. Shu-kun and I became concerned when you had not returned after three weeks, and we had had no word from you. When more than a month had passed, we decided we could wait no longer, and so we agreed that I should begin today, to search for you. This morning, I borrowed a horse from the Yukimura hostel and set out. I was just about to give up my search for the day when I came upon hoof prints upon the road leading in this direction and decided to follow them. As I came nearer, I heard upraised voices and recognized one as your own."

"And my son? What of him?" While he was grateful for the boy's timely arrival, Hatanaka felt his anger begin to rise again; this time directed at the young man who stood in front of him. He'd left his only child in Kurama's care and could not believe the young man's irresponsibility in leaving him alone while he traipsed the countryside looking for _**him**_.

"There is no need to worry, Stepfather," Kurama responded, "Shu-kun is quite safe I assure you. He's with Yusuke; staying at the hostel until our return."

A muttered oath came from the former noble. Yet, before he could fully articulate his thoughts into words regarding the wisdom of entrusting his son to the dubious care of Yusuke Urameshi, a deep voice intruded, returning him abruptly to the unpleasant moment at hand.

The cloaked figure had been astonished by the redheaded youth's arrival. So much so, that he'd momentarily forgotten what it was he was about to do and the reason for his action. Now, however, he shook his head, clearing it of the sight before him: the lithe figure of the boy, his cascading fall of crimson hair, and those wide, deep emerald eyes that held no fear of the man before him. Cleared it not only of that sight, but of his own, quite unexpected reaction to the youth.

"Forgive me for intruding upon such a _**touching**_ reunion." The man's words positively dripped with sarcasm. "However," and here he addressed his remarks to Hatanaka, who had by this time, risen to his feet and stood behind the youth, looking over the boy's shoulder at him. "But I believe you and I have unfinished business."

The blade was raised again, and again, it was blocked by the youth, who refused to move from his protective stance.

"Your pardon, sir," Kurama spoke and there was not a hint of trepidation in the clear tenor. "But this business you speak of seems to be nothing more than your intent to murder my stepfather. And that, I cannot allow."

The dark figure snorted. "Hn. Fortunately," he replied, "_**you**_ have no say in the matter, boy. Your stepfather not only trespassed upon my lands, he was caught in the act of thievery; crimes punishable by death."

Green eyes narrowed as the man finished speaking. Kurama felt his own anger stir at the cloaked figure's slanderous words. He fought it down, knowing that he needed to remain calm if there was to be any hope of his diffusing the situation and gaining his stepfather's life and freedom. Relaxing his stance slightly, he again addressed the small, cloaked figure.

"Surely, sir, you are mistaken. My stepfather is a noble gentleman and would never lower himself to so mean a state as petty thievery."

"And what would you know of the matter?" the hooded figure retorted. "You were not here to bear witness as he defiled my property, callously taking that which did not belong to him without so much as a 'by your leave'."

"Defiled?" The confusion in Kurama's voice was clearly evident.

"_**There**_!" the man spat, the sword in his hand swinging away to point at the run-to-riot rose bush. "He took one of those… those roses… my mother's roses," he finished quietly.

Large green eyes widened further, if such a thing was possible. The cloaked figure had sounded distressed, almost as if he was in pain, as he'd finished speaking. Kurama turned slightly, once more facing his stepfather.

"Stepfather?" Hatanaka had the grace to look abashed.

"It was not really thievery," the older man explained. "You see, I saw the bush hanging over the wall full of those beautiful roses, and since I had not remembered to stop by the flower vendor before leaving the city to obtain the rose cutting you had asked me to bring….." He took a breath then rushed through the remainder of his explanation. "I thought that if I brought you one of those instead, then at the very least, you would have the flower to admire for a few days."

"It was thoughtless of my, I know," he finished, somewhat lamely.

Kurama nodded, gifting Hatanaka with a sympathetic smile. "I understand. And I do thank you for remembering my request."

"Very well, then." He turned to face the cloaked figure once more. "As you heard, sir, my stepfather meant no harm. Nonetheless, he did take the rose, but since he did so to please me, the responsibility for the theft is mine. Therefore, I offer you my life in exchange for his."

Hatanaka gasped. "Kurama… NO!"

"Silence, Fool!" The deep voice growled, the sword swinging up to point at the nobleman once more. "This is no longer your concern. It is now between the boy and me."

The cloaked figure seemed to raise its head. Twin blood-red orbs, barely discernible from the dark recesses of the hood, fix themselves on Kurama, and the youth met that gaze evenly.

"You would be willing to give up your life… for him?" The figure asked.

"Of course," he replied in the same quiet, tranquil voice that he had used throughout. "The fault for the theft lies with me. If I had not requested that cutting, my stepfather would not have taken one of the roses from your bush."

At his words, the hooded figure seemed to give a curt nod. The hooded head lowered, as he seemed to contemplate the redheaded youth's magnanimous and very courageous offer. Silence stretched between the three men until finally, that hooded head rose again.

"Your bravery is to be commended," he told Kurama, bowing slightly to the youth. "And under any other circumstances, I would not hesitate to accept such an offer. However….."

"I will not allow you to take his life," Kurama broke in, once again assuming his protective stance in front of Hatanaka, arms spread; a barrier between the cloaked figure, his sword, and his stepfather.

"So quick to assume the worst, are you?" Kurama could almost hear the smirk in that deep voice. A soft, barely audible sigh and then the voice continued. "Be that as it may; as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted… I am willing to be merciful and to offer a compromise that should benefit you both."

Not allowing either man the opportunity to respond, the cloak figure continued speaking. "I shall grant your stepfather his life and allow him to return to his home. And in exchange, you will agree to remain here – as my companion – for the remainder of your natural life. Are we in accord?"

Kurama had no chance to respond, as Hatanaka immediately spoke up. "NO!" he adamantly responded. He reached out, resting a hand on a slender shoulder.

The youth, however, was not to be swayed. "If I agree, you guarantee his life and freedom?" Kurama asked the cloaked figure.

"You have my word," the figure responded, giving a solemn nod.

"Very well." Responding in kind, Kurama raised his own hand and put it over his stepfather's. Shifting slightly he faced the older man, smiling gently.

Hatanaka returned that gaze, a frown upon his noble visage. "I cannot allow you to do this," he said softly, his voice laced with regret.

"I know," the boy returned with a gentle smile. "But the choice is not yours, Stepfather. It is mine, and I choose to remain."

* * *

**A/N: I know that it's been quite some time since I've updated this particular fic. Therefore, I beg your pardon and ask your forgiveness; however, the muse has been concentrating on haiku and my other fics as of late.**

**I'm not sure, as well, whether this was a good place to end this chapter, but once again, the muse has spoken and who am I to argue!!**

**As always, please read and if you feel so inclined, I would very much appreciate a review.**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know...I know! It's been FAR too long since I updated this story, and I truly did not mean to let time slip away from me. However, please know that I have been writing and that I will continue to do so. As well, I will NEVER abandon any story... I simply need to follow the muse wherever she leads.**

**That said, this chapter was actually to have ended somewhat differently; but once the final lines were written, it seemed appropriate to end it there. I hope you enjoy!**

**This chapter is dedicated to the one and only Blossomwitch! This one's for you, Sweetie!**

* * *

_It is mine, and I choose to remain._

Those words, spoken with such quiet authority and brooking no argument from the older man, brought a smile to the face hidden deep within the folds of black serge; the first smile the small figure had felt upon his visage for many years. In point of fact, he could not remember ever having done so.

The boy had courage and strength of will, both of which pleased the cloaked figure; though he'd no more admit to such than he would the smile still on his lips. Perhaps, though, that was the reason for this unaccustomed facial expression. He gave himself a mental shake, ridding himself of these thoughts, and composed his face, silently watching the two before him. The older, arms crossed haughtily over his chest, glared angrily at his stepson. The younger – the boy – merely stood in silence, mild green eyes gazing not at his stepfather but rather, at _**him**_, as though awaiting his acknowledgement of the boy's acceptance to the bargain just proposed.

The cloaked figure let the silence carry on a bit longer before he finally raised his head to address the nobleman. "The sun is about to set. And these woods are not safe to travel after dark. You may stay the night and say your farewells in the morning." All of this was stated as a matter of fact; no welcome could be discerned in the dark figure's words or his tone.

Turning his attention to the younger man, the figure spoke a single word, "Come," then spun on his heel and proceeded back through the high, black iron gate set into the stone wall.

Kurama felt a slight pressure on his arm and turned to face the owner of the hand that lay atop his arm, fingers gripping lightly. Green eyes met blue, a question in them. Kazuya's eyes widened slightly, eyebrows raised as he nodded back toward the patiently waiting horses. His meaning was clear… Escape!

Kurama made no verbal reply. Rather a simple shake of his red mane ever so slightly in negation indicated his intention to make good on his promise before he turned away from his stepfather and walked to the patiently waiting horses. He picked up the reins lying in the dust and with a slight tug of the leather in his hand, began to follow the cloaked figure, the horses docilely ambling in his wake. With no other recourse (and a heavy sigh), Kazuya caught up to his stepson and together they walked through the gate.

As the two followed the short, dark figure along the gravel pathway that lead toward the house, Kurama raised his voice. "Your pardon, Sir." The cloaked figure halted abruptly and turned around, arms crossed and silent. The youngster, sensing the man's stance was, in and of itself, his reply, continued. "Is there somewhere I might stable the horses for the night?"

The figure remained silent for a moment before he turned around once more and began to walk up the path again. "This way," he finally replied as he continued onward.

He continued to lead them along the path toward the house. As they neared what appeared, at least to Hatanaka's ice blue gaze, to be a structure built on a far grander scale than the mansion he'd been forced to vacate eighteen interminable months ago, the small figure veered suddenly to the left and with quickened pace, proceeded around the house. Kurama, still leading the horses, lengthened his own stride, following easily in the figure's wake.

Hatanaka, who had stopped for a closer, albeit brief, inspection of the house, hurried to catch up with the two ahead of him.

At length, the path came to an end and the three halted their progress before a rectangular building of stone and mortar that, while smaller than the house, was every bit as impressive in its own right. A roof of red clay tile covered the structure, which was fronted by a pair of massive oaken doors; circular handles of black wrought iron set into each. With little effort, the small, cloaked figure reached up and grasping the handles, swung the doors wide then marched inside. Kurama followed with the horses, their hooves clacking on the cobbled floor of the stable. Hatanaka chose to remain outside. He folded his arms across his chest and reclined his back against the smooth oak of the opened door.

The interior of the stable was dark and smelled of fresh hay, old wood, horseflesh, and manure. A light flared, and Kurama squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily shutting out the sudden brightness of the lantern the cloaked figure had just finished lighting and hung from a hook on one of the thick, oak stanchions that divided the interior into stalls.

A soft whinny, accompanied by a somewhat louder snort, caught the youth's attention, bringing his focus back to the task at hand. The noises, though, had not come from his mounts, but rather, from the stalls to his immediate left. Glancing over, Kurama beheld two of the most magnificent specimens of horseflesh he'd ever encountered. A sleek, black stallion with a temperament akin to the dark cloaked figure, if the stamping hooves that followed the snort were any indication, occupied the first stall. The second held a slender, dappled gray mare that seemed as if it had been bred just to accommodate someone of his own lithe physique. Indeed, these two rivaled anything that could be found in the king's quite impressive stables.

Kurama looked away from the horses only to meet the hooded, crimson gaze of his host. The small figure stood at one of the stall entrances toward the back of the stable proper, his arms folded across his chest; his air one of complete and utter boredom. The boy gave a tentative smile and a nod toward the two mounts already stabled.

"They are beautiful animals," he commented.

"Hn." Abrupt, and rather disdainful, as though the dark-cloaked figure was already well aware, and yet, could care less, about the pedigree of his horseflesh or the fact that the red-headed youth had voiced his opinion of it. "Put them in here," he finished with a nod toward two empty stalls adjacent to that of his own mounts.

Kurama held his tongue. Discretion, after all, was the better part of valor. So he had been taught, and so he believed. Thus, Kurama practiced that discretion now as, with a nod and another small smile, he complied with the direction given and led the horses to their appointed stalls. He took great care to remove the saddle and bridle – first from one and then from the other. After, he gently but firmly curried each animal, using the curry-combs he'd noticed on a shelf that stretched the length of the stalls.

All the while, the hooded figure observed these proceedings in silent indifference as he leaned against the back wall, arms still crossed over his chest. The boy, again to his credit, paid no heed to the man as he continued caring for the horses. Oats, from a large wooden trough found against the inside front wall of the stable, were gathered into the bucket provided next to the trough and brought to each stall where they were poured into one of two smaller troughs.

When he'd finished, Kurama took the bucket and made his way back outside and to the well he'd noticed midway between the manor and the stable. Though there was only pale moonlight to illuminate his path, he found the well easily enough, filled the bucket and return to empty its contents into the second trough.

Once both horses had been fed and watered, he repeated the entire process for his host's mounts, speaking softly to them both as he did so. Contented whinnies, and a soft nuzzle by the mare, were his reward. The boy smiled and returned the caress, gently running his hand along the side of the mare's head. A nudge against his back caused the smile to become a soft chuckle.

"Feeling neglected, are you?" He turned to the stallion and found dark eyes regarding him coolly and with just a touch of arrogance. Again, he was reminded sharply of his host, and idly wondered as he raised his hand, this time stroking from the top of the stallion's head down to his nose, if the little man might be appeased as easily as his soft caresses seemed to gentle the large horse.

A snort, though this one came not from the horse, brought him out of his thoughts, and Kurama turned his attention to the small figure at the back of the stable. The figure was no longer leaning against the wall but was now standing straight. Kurama could feel the man's eyes on him before he raised his own to meet that red-eyed gaze.

"Hn. If you're quite done playing nursemaid to my horses," the little man sneered as he strode toward the opened doors, "the house… now!"

"As you wish," came the quiet response. Kurama dipped his head in acknowledgement, lowered his hand, and with a whispered 'good night' to the four horses, followed the cloaked figure.

As the pair stepped through the doorway, Hatanaka straightened from the position he'd occupied for the better part of the last hour against the outside wall. He made no move to assist the two who were engaged at the moment in closing and securing the heavy oak doors – simply standing in silence as the task was completed.

When he'd finished, Kurama joined his stepfather. The cloaked figure, however, merely turned away from the closed door and silently strode off toward the house. The two men hurried to follow, lest the figure in black be lost to the darkness that now pressed in on them from all sides.

************************************************************************

Dinner was a dismal, near silent affair.

The food, prepared for the most part by Kurama with an occasional assist from their dark-cloaked host, was done in silence. That silence was then carried forward to the actual eating of the meal. Oh, Kurama and his stepfather tried making casual small talk as they ate. However, whenever the redhead attempted to draw their host into the conversation, he was met with a disinterested grunt or the more disdainful and quite succinct, 'hn'. The young man quickly discerned that this monosyllabic expression seemed to be the dark figure's preferred method of communication. With his own attempts thus far successfully thwarted, and with Hatanaka clearly making no such attempt, the conversation – stilted as it already was – quickly faded, until quiet reigned supreme once again.

Thus, was the meal completed.

No sooner had he finished his meal then the hooded figure abruptly stood, and without a word to his 'guests', left the room. Kurama stood as well and began to gather and stack the soiled china and silver, which he then carried out to the kitchen. When he returned, he gathered the serving platters and bowls and took them to the kitchen as well. Setting them down next to the pile of plates, crystal and silverware, the young man took the copper kettle from its hook above the fire, filled it with water from the cistern that occupied an entire wall of the spacious room, and returned the pot to the fire.

As he waited for the water to heat, Kurama searched the cabinets until he found a basin large enough to accommodate the dishes. He set the basin on the counter and carefully set the china into it then rolled up his sleeves.

Hatanaka, who'd followed his stepson as far as the doorway separating the kitchen from the dining room and was even now lounging against the opened door, observed the lad in silence. Now, however, as the kettle on the fire whistled and Kurama moved to take it from the hook in preparation to begin cleaning the supper dishes, he spoke up. "You are a fool to keep the bargain you have made with that madman." Though he spoke quietly, his words were nonetheless vehement. "And I shall be damned if I'll stand idly by and allow you to…."

"Forgive me, Stepfather," Kurama interjected, effectively silencing the elder man, "but this subject is not open for discussion or debate. I gave my word, and I fully intend to honor that word."

The young man raised his head, resolute green eyes meeting blue, and Hatanaka was reminded of his late, second wife. Though rare, he had seen, on occasion, that same fierce determination in Shiori's eyes. She had been a force to be reckoned with during those times, he remembered. Apparently, she'd passed this trait on to her son. Rather than the exasperation he'd expected to feel at this discovery, Hatanaka felt his chest swell with pride instead.

It was the same feeling the small, dark figure on the other side of the door felt as he stood, listening to the exchange between father and son.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Indeed, he'd left the dining room fully intending to spend the remainder of the evening in his room, letting the two find their own sleeping accommodations amidst the many rooms on the second floor. Yet, once he'd reached the relative safety of his own four walls, the figure found he could not stop his thoughts from returning to the red-haired youth currently washing dishes but one floor below.

There was something about the boy that calmed his otherwise restless spirit… something that gave him a peace he'd not felt since his childhood. Yet, steel was contained within that soft, almost feminine shell as well. A good companion, the figure decided… and perhaps after all these years, a friend as well.


End file.
